


A Fortnight of Hope

by Narkito



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narkito/pseuds/Narkito
Summary: Steve's away and decides to write letters to Danny, to pass the time.





	A Fortnight of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing to get a jump-start for the other bigger fic and this happened. It's quite angsty and a little bit experimental. It ended up being a little more whumpy than expected. It has a happy ending at least *rolls eyes to self* 
> 
> Not beate'ed or anything. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Feel free to point out typos and such.
> 
> Other than that, hope you enjoy.

I’m tired. I’m sore. I’m covered in dust and dirt from head to toe. It’s so hot in here I feel like I’m almost asphyxiating. And I’ve run out of water. I have to admit it kind of brings certain memories back. I could do without the bruises this time around, though.

#

The other day, as I was leaving for my monthly reunion with the governor, I left a post-it on your desk with a smiley face on it, underneath it read “ _Miss you already Danno_ ”, I wonder if you ever got and if it made you smile. I hope it did. But you never mentioned it. Why? I think about that sometimes.

Well, it’s chow time, I’ll have to ask you someday. Gotta go.

#

I’ve decided to do something and I hope it’s okay.

I mean _this_ , by the way. Me writing to you, knowing that you can’t write back.

I’m worried it will drive you crazy, not being able to have the last word. Though in a way it’s the best trick the Universe has ever pulled in my favour, being able to render you speechless and have you listen to me and nothing else. I finally get to enjoy silence, without the possibility of you bursting through my life, firing a thousand words per minute and expecting me to come up with something to say.

Fan- _fucking_ -tastic.

#

Last one was mean. I’m sorry. I feel like a caged animal in here and it caught me by surprise, I let it get the better of me.

You do talk a lot, though.

#

You would forgive me anything, wouldn’t you? I can almost see you rolling your eyes. I know you would. You’re amazing like that.

It’s a short note today. I’m so tired. I don’t remember ever being this tired before. I’ll try to get some sleep. Hopefully I won’t be dragged out of bed for at least four more hours. I think I haven’t slept in about a week. I’m stopping now. I’ll start rambling and forget to sleep. Talk to you soon.

#

They came and went already, it was better than other days. I’m mostly bored at this point and I keep wondering if I left the stove on. I think it’s the first time in my life when I’ve actively tried to build the memory of me leaving the house to figure out something so trivial. Do you ever do that sometimes? _Well, who am I speaking to, of course you do;_ you worry about everything, all the time, it’s like your basal state. If you’re not low-key panicking, then something must be very, very, very wrong.

Are you now? Low-key panicking? Are you in full panic mode yet? I think I am. No, forget I said that. I should go, but I’ll write you another note later, if I get the chance.

#

Hey, Danny,

I’m sorry it’s been so long since the last time I wrote. I just haven’t had the time to sit down and put words into paper, you know? _Well,_ this is not paper, but I think it still counts. I hope it does. I wish you would write me back sometimes you know? I mean, I know it’s impossible, but I would love to have something of yours, more than just memories I mean--

Oh, no. It seems they forgot something, they might keep me away from this letter for ages, I might as well finish it here. Don’t worry, I’ll write again soon, I promise, come rain or snow. Talk to you soon, Danno.

#

Hey, babe,

It was a false alarm, but I was very tired from going around the place to finish my letter last night, it was well into the night when I got back actually, so I decided it would be better to start a new one. How are things going? How’s Charlie? By my calculations, he should be turning five today? I’m not sure, it’s hard to keep up with the real word in here, sometimes I feel like I don’t see the sun for weeks on end. I should probably mention that I already got him a present, it wasn’t supposed to be a birthday present, I never thought I would miss it, but hopefully you have already found it and made sure it got to Charlie’s hands. I hope he likes it too! I bought it on impulse. But after the treatments and everything the little guy has gone through, I figured he deserves to be spoiled. I don’t care if you don’t agree with that, I’m spoiling that kid rotten once I come back. Though I know that you spoil him too, even if you don’t want to admit it.

Make sure you give him a tight hug from me and tell him that Uncle Steve loves him and misses him every day.

#

I keep thinking about that damned stove. Yeah, I’m still thinking about that, and it’s driving me crazy, _haha, not funny_.

Maybe I miss you so much that I’m channelling you? I keep fixating on little things even though they don’t matter within the greater context? I don’t know.

Or, perhaps, if it’s not too awful to think about, you miss me too? Enough to channel me back? (I know, _I know_ , but it’s been a hell of a day, just play along for a bit, okay?) So, back to my idea; if you’re channelling me, does that mean you’re wearing cargos today? Every time I worry about something inane, do you have the need to throw a grenade? Or put yourself in danger?

Danny, I don’t want to get all sappy in here, but I need to know, do you miss me? I mean, I know in my heart that you do, it’s just… some days are harder than others.

Sorry, they’re coming again. I gotta go, Danno, write to you soon.

#

I love you. I love you. _I love you_.

#

Okay, so, last one wasn’t very clear, I mean, _it was_ ; what’s clearer than saying I love you, but I think--I feel like I should explain.

I was having a bad day again and all I could think about was you, and the children. Last time I saw you guys, we were on the beach behind my house, Charlie was fixating over his sandcastle and Gracie was texting with friends. And you were so content. Not happy, not laughing, just content to exist in the moment; relaxed and kind of smiling. You looked at them, and then you looked at me, and I knew. It was like something warm spilled inside my chest and pooled in my bones. I just knew. And I think you knew too.

Yes, it’s corny. But it’s the one memory I keep coming back to. The thought of you and the children. The idea that maybe one day, that memory will be every day.

I hope this explains enough, I have to go again, they’re coming back to take me. I’ll write again soon.

#

I wish I could paint the ceiling. It’s flaky and stained. And it bothers me.

No, I don’t have control issues. _Shut up_.

#

I don’t mean to flake on you, Danny, but for the first time in I don’t know how long, it occurred to me that I might not be getting out of this. This could be it, Danny. This might be the end of the line.

I don’t know what else to say.

#

I’m gonna give it one last try, Danny, for you, for our Ohana.

#

> Dear Danny,
> 
> I hope this letter finds you well… or as well as you can be, considering. It is the first one I can write down in actual paper; the first one of the many I’ve written in my head. It took a lot of planning and dumb luck to steal the paper and this pen. I don’t know if, or how long, it will take them to realise I’ve taken them, so I’m afraid I’ll have to keep it brief.
> 
> I know you’re beating yourself up about my abduction. I know this, because I know you, and because I would be doing the same if I were in your place. In fact, I did the same for weeks after. Reviewing the scene in my head over and over again, trying to find the fraction of a second that would’ve ended with me back home, instead of locked up in here. The thing is, blaming yourself won’t change the past, but it will affect your future. And I don’t want you to suffer Danny, I don’t want you to become a bitter man. You’re a scared-y cat, you’re way too talkative, you give me chest pains with your rants, you don’t know when to stop pushing, and you’re way more stubborn than me, but you are also my friend, and even in absence I need you. So, today, once you find this letter and finish swearing up a storm, I need you to calm down and figure out how to move on.
> 
> I love you, man, to the last of my breath. I wish we could have explored whatever came after that family day at my house, the last weekend before I was taken. But I’m guessing that if you’re reading this, we never got the chance, so for what it’s worth, I love you. I’m in love with you. And I would have enjoyed every bit of the mess that would have come from us trying a relationship together. And I think you would’ve too.
> 
> Always yours,  
>  Steve.
> 
> PS: Hug those kids for me, Danny, and tell them their Uncle Steve loves them every single day.

#

Steve turns on his side and rolls the paper tight, slipping it inside a plastic piece he had procured a few days ago, when he had first started to think he wouldn’t be getting out of this one.

Careful of his ribs, he stretches until he can stash his letter in a small crack on the wall, right beside the mattress he’s been calling a bed for almost two months now. And once he’s satisfied the package is secure, he allows himself to relax and slowly retracts his arms and legs into his chest, rolling to the side into a tight ball. His body is screaming in pain and whether he likes it or not, he’s about to pass out. And this time he doesn’t fight it as hard as other times, he lets the darkness wash over him and provide him with much needed relief.

#

He dreams.

He hasn’t dreamt in a while.

There’s Danny, and the kids. There’s crying. And hugs. Someone shrieks in the distance. Some other person cries his name over and over again.

He can’t make sense of the situation.

He’s scared. But relieved as well.

He lets go.

#

He wakes up when they come into the room. They don’t even bother to restrain him this time.

They drag him to The Office. Big Beard and Bald Head hold him under the armpits and lift him up the stairs. He would try to walk on his own, if only for dignity’s sake, but he figures it’s best if he conserves his energy from now on. Try to stretch his survival a few more weeks. Give his team a chance. A fortnight of hope. His last remnant of hope. Of strength.

He comes to again when the goons plop him down on a seat. It’s a good comfortable one, for a change, so they must have realised there’s barely anything left in him to give. He looks around and notes that everything is in place. That everything remains the same. Maybe they noticed there’s a pen missing, but he doubts it. They would have searched him before they dragged him in here if that had been the case.

He blinks owlishly at the ceiling. He hates that this is the only nice room he’s been in, in all this time. This room has quality paint on the walls. And a nice wooden table where the guy in charge sits; who is the only person, other than Steve, that hasn’t clocked out over the weeks they’ve kept him. It must be very expensive to pay for the same group of thugs to beat someone up day in and day out for weeks on end. Making teams makes sense. You don’t want your thugs to get traumatised; could be bad for business. Even the best operators are susceptible to major psychological trauma after the horrors of war. Street thugs are no exception.

When the person in charge, Tom, comes forth, Steve tries to pay attention to what he wants now. Steve’s been feeding him low level intel for about a month, enough to keep himself alive, but not enough to cause major disruption in the world. Or so he keeps telling himself. So he listens to whatever Tom needs from him today. Just no more beatings. At this point it’s the injuries, malnutrition and infection that will kill him. But not Tom. Not the thugs of the week. Just bad luck. _Very bad luck_.

 _A fortnight of hope,_ he reminds himself, and promptly spills some of the secrets Tom wants access to.  

#

_Danny. Danny. Danny. I don’t know what else to say. Why don’t I know what else to say?_

#

There is a heavy hand on his chest that’s pressing him down onto the mattress. His ribs protesting the pressure. And no, this is not how he goes, he does not get murdered in his sleep. He fights with all he’s got left. But his movements are sluggish and uncoordinated. Another hand comes and grabs his arms, cross them over his chest. His heart thumps so fast against his chest he wonders if he’s going to get a heart attack. 

He blacks out.

#

“ _Shhh, settle down. I’m here, baby, I’m here_.”

 _Danny?_ He thinks; he wants to say, but can’t.

“I’m here, babe, you’re fine, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, you’re fine.”

 _Danny?_ He tries again, but the words won’t come out.

“Steve, c’mon, babe, open your eyes.”

He tries to, but the ambient noise, turns into white noise, turns into silence.

He’s asleep again.

#

“DANNY!”

He bolts awake, his back almost arching off the bed.

“I’m here, I’m here, babe, are you awake? Of course you are. You’re fine, babe, you’re okay.”

Steve tries to sit up, fighting a nasal cannula and half a dozen leads and tubes going from his chest to a machine, but Danny stops him, gently pushing him back down until Steve’s head rests on his pillow.

“Hey, babe,” Danny chokes out, “long time no see.” Danny swallows thickly, pressing the call button on the wall. His eyes are red-rimmed and he looks about a decade older. Thinner too.

“Danny,” he rasps out, melting back into the mattress. Welcoming the smell of disinfectant that screams _hospital_.

Danny rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, and motions for Steve to scoot over, before sitting on the bed without even waiting for Steve to move.

“I got your letter, Steven,” Danny gushes, his eyes getting wet again. And then he raises his eyebrows, asking for permission. And isn’t it great how they work?

Steve rolls his eyes in response, trying to smile.

Danny leans down, slow and careful, sneaking a hand under Steve’s head, and plants a kiss on his forehead. Steve’s eyes flutter until they close on their own accord. Danny kisses the corner of his lips next, and then the opposite side. Steve swallows anticipating what comes next: a chaste kiss on his lips that tugs at his heart and makes him shudder.

Danny shudders in return.

“You’re not leaving my sight ever again,” Danny whispers, close enough that Steve can smell the minty toothpaste of his breath.

Steve sighs and nods in response, losing his battle against sleep again. Safe in the arms of his best friend; his everything.


End file.
